Poisoned Heart
by ArrowValley
Summary: After the murder of a police officer, Tintin tries to find the person responsible. However, the crime may be more twisted than it seems.
1. Chapter 1

_ I wrote this short story over a year ago for a writing assignment. Enjoy!_

* * *

"Your reporting days are over, boy," snarled the drug dealer, his gun trained directly at the teenaged reporter's head. "Say goodbye, Tintin."

Tintin, who was standing in the corner of the warehouse used by the drug dealers as their base, cowered in fear. He may have been a reporter, and facing criminals was literally his job, but when he was standing seconds from death, his fear mounted and showed.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" yelled two loud voices.

Tintin gasped as he recognized it. "Detectives Thompson and Thomson!" he cried aloud as they merged into the room, pistols drawn.

"Drop your guns!" one of the two mustached officers commanded.

With no other choice, the criminals carefully set their weapons on the floor and stood up, hands raised in surrender. Thomson and Thompson stepped into the room, and other police officers hurried in after them, quickly arresting the dealers.

Relieved at the timely rescue, Tintin exited the corner and joined the two head officers. "Thank you, detectives," he smiled.

"Any time, Tintin," they nodded in sync. They said almost everything at the same time, so much so that people would think they were twins. However, despite their similar last names, their almost identical appearance, and practically joined personalities, they were surprisingly not even related.

"You all right?" asked Thomson.

"I am now," Tintin answered. "How did you find us, though?"

"Snowy led us here," Thompson answered, and all three glanced toward the door as a little white Wire Fox Terrier raced in the door, barking.

"Snowy!" exclaimed Tintin, smiling as he knelt to receive the dog.

"Indeed," agreed Thomson. "He came to the police station and barked at us until we followed him, and here we are."

"Good dog, Snowy," praised Tintin, rubbing the terrier's ears. "You must have slipped away after we got here to bring reinforcements."

"He's a clever dog, that one," confirmed Thompson.

"He sure is," beamed Tintin, standing up again. The proud dog sat at the boy's side, his white face practically glowing at the praise of his master.

"Well," sighed Thomson, "I suppose we ought to be going, eh, Thompson?"

"Right you are, Thomson," Thompson replied. "I'm afraid we must be taking those criminals down to the station."

"Tintin," bid both officers in farewell, tipping their black bowler hats to him.

"Detectives," nodded Tintin.

The investigators left, leaving Tintin and Snowy alone in the warehouse.

"Well, Snowy," the reporter grinned, "I suppose we ought to be getting home now, huh?"

The dog only barked in reply as the two exited the building and strolled down the sidewalk towards their house on the outskirts of Brussels. Tintin had moved there months ago after becoming best friends with a retired mariner, Captain Haddock. Previously, the boy had lived alone in a city apartment, Snowy being his only real friend. He had no parents or siblings or any other kind of family to mention.

However, in the midst of solving yet another exciting case, Tintin happened to make the acquaintance of the Captain, who had been dragged into the whole adventure. After it was over, though, they continued a friendship, and before Tintin knew it, the Captain, having learned of Tintin's living situation, invited him to live in his residence, Marlinspike Hall, with him. At first, Tintin politely denied, but the more the Captain insisted and the lonelier Tintin realized he was in his apartment, the more he was convinced to accept. Finally, the Captain won, and Tintin moved in.

"What a beautiful day, Snowy," smiled Tintin as the two of them left the bustling Belgian city behind and entered the country. "It's so wonderful. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the trees are green and thriving. It's beautiful for mid-morning in spring, isn't it, Snowy?"

The dog only barked.

"I wonder what the Captain has been up to in our absence," Tintin mused aloud. He frowned. Ever since the previous month, he'd noticed his friend was rather restless and upset. It only seemed to mount with every passing day, which Tintin thought was rather odd. He'd rather hoped that time would help the situation dissolve.

It had all started on a normal March day. It was only Tintin and the Captain at Marlinspike Hall, along with their good friend, Cuthbert Calculus. He was a scientist, an ingenious one, and very successful. However, he was rather deaf, though he called it being "a little hard of hearing in one ear." He was always thinking everyone said things they didn't, which annoyed Tintin and especially the Captain to no end. Sometimes, the inventor wore hearing aids or used an ear trumpet, but using either were rare. Tintin personally thought the old man liked being able to work in peace.

Anyway, the gentle professor had always been appalled with the Captain's obsession with whiskey and other liquor, which the mariner had developed after the death of his grandfather. Calculus secretly invented a pill that disallowed anyone who ingested it to hold down any alcohol. He'd first given it to the Captain, who was furious at the professor when he found out the cause weeks later. He'd demanded a cure, which Calculus was still working on. Meanwhile, the Captain was having a miserable time adjusting to being sober, and he was often grouchy.

"Well, I certainly hope that he's in good spirits," Tintin sighed in conclusion to his thought as he and Snowy reached the driveway to the manor. "It would serve him well."

The short rest of the trip was spent in a relaxed silence. In a minute's time, the two companions had reached the huge house, and they when they entered, they were greeted by their always emotionless but still loyal butler, Nestor.

"Good morning, Nestor," smiled Tintin warmly. "How are you?"

"Um, very good, sir," the butler answered hesitantly. He still wasn't used to the way that Tintin inquired of his own well-being. The person who had owned the hall before the Captain acquired it, Ivan Sakharine, had been a rival of the Haddock line and a criminal. Consequently, he'd never been one to ask how people were.

"Excellent," responded the young journalist. "How's the Captain this morning?"

Nestor frowned. "I'm afraid not very good, sir," he replied. "He's been complaining about not being able to have any whiskey for the past hour or so."

Tintin sighed. Removing his coat, he hung it up nearby before leaving to find the Captain. He soon discovered the old naval man in the large sitting room, flopped ungracefully on the coach, bemoaning his loss.

"How are you, Captain?" Tintin asked tentatively. He knew the answer that would come.

"Horrible!" growled the Captain. "When is that dratted Calculus going to finish creating that cure?"

"Science isn't easy," Tintin responded in an effort to soothe the angry sailor. "However, I'm sure he's working hard on it."

"Is he?" snapped the Captain. "How about you go see for yourself?"

_If that's what it takes, _Tintin thought. "All right," he agreed calmly. "I'll walk down to his lab and inquire of him." He paused. "Are you coming?"

The Captain huffed. "I think not," he muttered.

Tintin sighed again. "Fine," he answered. "I'll be back soon with your answer."

The Captain rolled over onto his stomach, still pouting as the boy left the room.

Within a few minutes, Tintin and Snowy had reached the small but high-tech lab a half mile from the hall, just across the lawn. When they entered it, they were met by the sight of a small man, dressed in a forest green coat and a matching hat scribbling like crazy on a blueprint sheet.

"Hello, Professor," smiled Tintin.

Calculus turned his head at the greeting. Pleased to see the boy, he answered, "Tintin! What a pleasure!"

"Indeed, Professor," grinned Tintin.

"In need?" repeated Calculus. "Of what?"

Tintin shook his head at the misinterpreted sentence but answered, "Just some information for the Captain. He's wondering how the work on the cure is coming."

"A deer is coming!?" exclaimed Calculus. "Where is it? It must not eat my papers!"

"No, no, Professor!" Tintin cried. "Not a deer!"

The panicking scientist, who was attempting to grab up all his blueprints for apparent safekeeping, didn't appear to hear the journalist. With a sigh, Tintin searched Calculus' desk until he spotted the ear trumpet. Grabbing it, he quickly handed it to the professor.

The inventor stared down at it in puzzlement, dropping his pile of documents back on his desk. "My dear boy," he asked, "why ever would I need this?"

"I must ask a question," the boy answered.

Tintin wasn't sure what his companion had heard, but whatever it was, it had convinced him to use the trumpet.

"Well, then," the professor sighed, "let us hear your suggestion, shall we?"

Tintin paused, then shook his head again. "I simply wanted to ask about the cure for the Captain. He was wondering about it."

"The cure?" repeated the scientist. "Why, I'm working on it now. I'm almost there, I just need some numbers from George."

Tintin frowned. "Who's George?" he asked.

"Why, haven't you met George?" the Professor inquired. "He's my assistant. He's worked with me four years now, the lad. Started on with me when he was ten. Needed some money for his family, he said. I couldn't say no. He's a quick learner and very brilliant. He's even invented some of his own concoctions. He has a brilliant mind, I tell you."

Only seconds after the explanation was over, a boy came through a door in the back of the lab, holding a sheet of paper. He was quite thin, Tintin noticed, and short, though he was but three years younger than himself.

"George," called Calculus. "Come over here."

The boy immediately obeyed, bringing over the papers. "I got your results, Professor," he answered.

"Excellent," chirped Calculus. "However, right now, I would like you to meet my good friend, Tintin. Tintin, this is my assistant, George Ruben. He lives here at the lab, in that room back there." He pointed to the door through which George had entered.

"He does?" Tintin replied. Turning to George himself, he asked, "Don't you have a family?"

A spark of emotion flashed in the boy's eyes before disappearing, "No . . . not anymore. My father died in jail, and my sister and mother perished from pneumonia a few years ago."

Tintin wavered. "I'm sorry," he answered.

The boy seemed eager to move away from the subject, and he did so quickly. "But you!" he cried with a sudden enthusiasm. "You're – you're Tintin!"

The reporter was taken aback. This kid knew him?

"I've heard about your cases!" the boy cried. "I've always wanted to meet you, but . . . " He faltered. "I just thought . . . I don't know. You wouldn't care." He admitted the last part bitterly.

Tintin frowned. "Oh, you can't assume that," he answered.

The boy looked up. There was the slightest gleam of hope in his eyes. "No?" he murmured.

"No!" answered Tintin. Knowing he couldn't possibly turn down the hopeful boy, he added, "I can even tell you about my latest case!"

"Really?" exclaimed George, his eyes alight.

Tintin nodded in confirmation. Turning to Calculus, he asked, "Can I borrow your assistant for a bit, Professor?"

The scientist looked up from where he was reading the numbers George had brought him. Seeming quite content with what they were telling him, he replied, "Oh, of course," very distractedly before returning to his project.

Tintin smiled. "Thank you," he responded, "and goodbye. Come on, Snowy." He turned to glance at the terrier, surprised to find it growling. "Why, Snowy," he asked, "what's wrong?"

The dog barked at George.

"Snowy! Snowy, stop it!" demanded Tintin.

The dog growled again, as much to Tintin as to George, displeased at the command.

Tintin sighed. "Why ever would Snowy be barking at you?"

George thought quickly. "I have some crackers in my pocket," he admitted. He pulled them out. "Besides a sandwich for meals, this is all I have."

Tintin looked on in pity as the boy laid his crackers on his desk, next to a few clear glass bottles, all of them holding the same, blue-colored liquid.

"Doesn't the Professor feed you?" asked Tintin.

George shook his head as the two exited the lab, Snowy following. The dog glanced back at the desk before rushing after them.

"No, he pays me," George answered. "Two dollars an hour, eight hours a day."

"Why, you're only fourteen!" exclaimed Tintin. "How could you possibly work that much?"

George shrugged. "When it's all you can do, well . . . it is what it is."

Tintin frowned.

Seeming to want to get on to a brighter topic, the assistant inquired, "So, what happened in your last case?"

Tintin went on to explain all about tracking down the drug dealers as they made their way to the hall. He finished just as they walked inside.

"Oh, Captain!" Tintin called into the house. "There's someone I want you to meet!"

The still rather grouchy sailor stumbled his way into the large, pristine entry way. "Who is it?" he sighed.

"This is George," Tintin said. "He's Professor Calculus' assistant down at the lab."

"Oh?" answered the Captain. "I didn't know he had one."

"He does," Tintin responded, "and has for the past four years. George lives at the lab."

"Interesting," the Captain replied, though his tone conveyed he hardly cared. "How is my cure?"

George spoke up at this point. "It's almost done, sir," he chirped. "Professor Calculus thought he would have it finished tonight."

The good news greatly cheered the Captain. "Blistering barnacles!" he exclaimed happily. "Isn't that just fantastic, Tintin?"

Glad that his friend was now in a joyful mood, Tintin grinned, "It sure is, Captain."

"Thundering typhoons! It's past noon already!" cried the Captain. "How about the three of us have lunch?"

So they did, and the conversation over the meal gave Tintin and the Captain a chance to get to know George better.

"So, no family?" Tintin inquired cautiously, hoping he wasn't tapping into a sensitive issue.

Not seeming too bothered at first, George answered without making eye contact, "No. We had always been poor, and Dad – " He suddenly paused. "He stole a necklace," he admitted. "He only wanted to get some money to take care of us – he wasn't a bad person, really! – but . . . " He shrugged, his gaze on his plate as he chewed a bite of potatoes. "He was caught," he pushed on, "and taken to jail. I got job with Professor Calculus, then, which served us pretty well." He shrugged yet again.

"Then, maybe a year later, my sister, Anna, caught measles. The professor heard, and he wasn't happy. He knew how easily measles spread and expressed his disallowance of infection in his lab. He insisted that the rest of the unaffected family – which was just Mother and me – take a vaccine. My mother refused to take it, believing it would only worsen things. I had to get the shot, since I worked for Calculus, and it was the only thing that saved me.

"Meanwhile, Mom and I still had to take care of Anna. I wasn't able to buy her enough medicine to keep her well, and before I or Mom knew it, she'd developed pneumonia. By then, we both knew it was hopeless, though we still tried to help her. However, whatever we did . . . wasn't enough to save her life.

"Then, only a couple weeks after her death, Mom, who'd been tending her the whole time, got affected by the measles virus. I took off a lot of hours to try and take care of her, but the same thing happened as with Anna; she got pneumonia, too . . . "

Tintin felt guilty when he saw a tear slip down George's face. _If I hadn't asked him about his family, he wouldn't have recalled all these painful memories,_ Tintin thought. He was about to tell George he didn't have to finish when the boy concluded, "I couldn't both work and tend her. I didn't have the money for food and medicine and other necessities, and I didn't have the time to make it if I was going to care for her. Eventually, all I could do was keep her comfortable until she passed, and finally . . . " It took more energy than he seemed to have to force out, "She did. I even found out that my father had passed away while in jail that same week." He paused bitterly. "And I was alone. I couldn't afford the apartment anymore, so the Professor invited me to stay at the lab. When he moved to Marlinspike last year, I moved with him, and I got a room built special in the back," he sighed.

Sensing the child would appreciate a change to a brighter topic, Tintin asked, "So, speaking of the lab, do you do your own projects there?"

"Um, yeah," George answered. "If I have a little spare time, Calculus will let me design some of my own mixtures or inventions. That is, if I do good on what I work on for him."

"Well, that's cool," Tintin enthused. "Are you working on anything right now?"

George shifted in his chair, thinking as he took another bite. After swallowing, he confirmed, "Yes, actually. Well . . . not really. It's almost finished. I just need to use it."

"What is–" Tintin started as the phone rang. Cutting off his sentence, he said, "I'll get it," and left the room. He picked up the device and spoke, "Hello?"

"Tintin?" asked a voice.

"Officer Thomson!" greeted the boy.

"Ah, no," answered the police officer. "It's Thompson, actually."

Tintin frowned, wondering how the detective could possibly know what name he had said. Thompson continued, "We, uh, that is, Thomson and I, need you to come down to the station, if possible. Just to do some paperwork on the case from this morning. Like a witness statement."

"Oh, of course, Officer," Tintin answered. "I'll be down shortly." He hung up and headed back to the dining room. "Hey, guys," he spoke up. "Um, I have to go down to the station to wrap some things on the case, but you guys can stay here and finish eating. I won't be gone long."

George's eyes lit up, and he abandoned his half-eaten plate of food without a second thought. "No, I want to come with you!" he exclaimed.

Tintin was a little surprised but rather flattered. "Oh, okay," he answered. "Coming, Captain?"

Captain Haddock glanced up from his steak at the sudden question. "Oh, I suppose," he sighed. He took one last bite before jumping up to follow them.

"Excellent," beamed Tintin. "Come on, Snowy."

The white dog, who lay snoozing under the table, awoke at once and yawned before running after the three.

The ride to the police station in downtown Brussels wasn't very long, and the companions reached it in short time. Immediately after walking inside, Tintin found Thompson and Thomson and followed them to a desk in a back room. As he started writing, Snowy sighed and settled on the floor by his feet.

Meanwhile, out in the lobby, the Captain was quite bored. George, on the other hand, was full of curiosity.

"That boy always takes forever," the Captain brooded. "Why did I ever agree to come along? I could be eating the rest of my steak right now. I hope it hasn't gotten cold . . . . "

George was rushing around the room in an excited tizzy. He'd rarely been to the police station before, especially in good graces. Everything and everyone was interesting. He sneaked around to every room, wondering which one Tintin was in. When he eventually found him, the journalist was almost finished. He spoke with the detectives for a second before handing over the papers. Rousing Snowy, he stood and walked to the door, exiting the room. He greeted George cheerfully outside.

"Well, that seems to be it," Tintin announced. "Let's find the Captain and head back to Marlinspike Hall, shall we?"

"All right," George agreed, and the three of them returned to the lobby. They found the Captain slumped unenthusiastically in a chair, still grumbling about his unfinished meal. They left and returned to the hall, where Tintin prepared to bid farewell to George.

"Well, I hoped that the past couple hours were somehow fun," smiled Tintin as he, George, the Captain, and Snowy stood outside.

"Of course they were!" cried George enthusiastically. "I got to hear about your case, see the police station, a–"

Before he could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by a loud crash from the nearby highway. All four looked in the direction of the noise in confusion before running towards it. Within a minute, they reached the road, only to find the wreck of a police car in the ditch a few hundred yards away. They rushed over as fast as they could, Snowy barking hysterically the whole time.

Tintin rushed to the driver's side of the car, ripping the door open as fast as he could. Immediately he spotted the officer inside, his head laying on the dashboard, dripping blood. Feeling a pulsing rush of cold blood wash through his body, Tintin quickly shoved the man upright and checked his heartbeat and pulse. Neither could be found. He was dead, and they were too late.

George, Snowy, and the Captain rushed down beside Tintin. Snowy barked up a storm as the Captain exclaimed, "Billions of blistering blue barnacles! What a mess! Is he alive?"

"No," Tintin sighed. "I think he died as soon as he crashed."

"But I don't get it," frowned the Captain. "Why would he crash? There's nothing along this road that could have caused such a tragedy."

Tintin frowned. "I don't know," he answered. "Let's look around the car. Maybe we'll find out something."

George followed, fascinated, as Tintin circled to the passenger side of the car. The Captain, meanwhile, simply watched, not sure what to do. Tintin opened the passenger door, greeted by a partially-eaten sandwich lying on the seat and a coffee mug sitting in the cup holder.

"He must have been eating his lunch while he was driving," Tintin mused. "He must have been at the station and was sent on a call." He paused to stare at the food. "It's obvious he didn't get very far in eating it, though that isn't surprising, considering he was driving." He lifted the mug to examine it. "It's barely touched," he observed with a frown. Cautiously he smelled it, knowing anything could be helpful at this point. His effort was rewarded, as a harsh scent met his nose, overwhelming it with a disgusting mix of sharp spices and herbs, none of them usually used in coffee.

"Ugh," Tintin shivered, wrinkling his nose. "Smell this, Captain."

The Captain narrowed his eyes in displeasure at the request but complied anyway. "Thundering typhoons!" he gasped. "Isn't that quite a concoction! It smells like some kind of bitter herb medicine!"

"Indeed," answered Tintin thoughtfully. "However, why would there be medicine in his coffee? Even more importantly, why would it cause him to crash?" He frowned again, drawing in his breath slightly. "Unless," he muttered, "it's not a medicine. Not a medicine at all. In fact, it's the opposite: it's poison!"

"Poison!" exclaimed the Captain in shock.

"Yes, Captain," confirmed Tintin, convinced of the theory, "poison. He must have drank the coffee while driving by here. The poison worked its way through his system, and . . . why, he was dead before he ever crashed!"

"I still don't get it," the Captain complained. "Whoever would poison a police officer?"

"That's what we're going to find out," Tintin answered determinedly. Turning to George, he asked, "Want to help solve a case?"

Sticking his hands in his pockets with an excited look on his face, George exclaimed, "Of course!"

"Good," answered Tintin. "We're going back to the police station to investigate."


	2. Chapter 2

The three detectives and the dog returned to Marlinspike Hall shortly to retrieve their car, which they drove into town. At the station, Tintin wasted no time finding out his information. He first went to Thompson and Thomson to check that the officer had indeed left around lunchtime. He had. After, he started evaluating who could be potential suspects. George and Snowy followed him around as he talked to different people, and the Captain continued talking to the two detectives, asking more about the person who had crashed.

"From your description," announced Thomson, "the officer was Zachary Smith. He was a rookie with us, only beginning his second year on the force. He was an excellent officer, though, and solved many crimes for us."

"What a tragic loss," sighed Thompson. "Poisoned, you say?"

"That's what Tintin thinks," the Captain answered. "Deduced it simply by sniffing the man's coffee!"

"Why, what did it smell like?" Thomson asked curiously.

"Like some horrid medicinal herb or something," the Captain replied.

"Herb?" repeated Thompson.

"Well, more than one," admitted the naval man. "It seemed to me like a huge clash of a bunch of different ones."

"Good heavens, Thompson!" exclaimed Thomson. "Why, there are some herbs I read about that are dangerous enough to kill when they're mixed!"

"Why, I think I heard about some, too!" cried Thompson. "It's even worse when nitrogen is involved. Though it turns the whole chemical a beautiful blue."

"I recall that, too! Perhaps we read the same source," suggested Thomson.

The Captain wasn't paying much attention to the two conversing detectives. Instead, he was thinking with conviction, _Tintin was right. It was poison, and that car crash was murder!_

* * *

"Hello," Tintin greeted the eighth person he was going to interview. He had no suspects so far. "My name's Tintin. What's your name?"

The unenthusiastic senior officer shook the offered hand without celebration, replying dryly, "Macneill. Farley Macneill."

"Well, Officer Macneill, have you heard about the car crash by Marlinspike Hall?" Tintin inquired.

"Yeah, word's gettin' around," grunted the man. "It was that rookie, Smith."

"Yes," confirmed Tintin. He'd heard the name several times already. "Did you hear how it happened?"

The man's teeth ground together slightly in agitation. "No one seems to know for sure," he answered. "The rumor is that he was poisoned. Found by some kid."

Tintin bit his lip at the last sentence, feeling a tiny bit awkward. "That was me," he answered, disguising his feelings well. "I found him. I live at Marlinspike."

The officer seemed unaffected by the news. "Oh, do you?" he replied.

Tintin was bothered by this man's callous behavior. If the way he was acting said anything, he was the closest to a suspect Tintin had yet found!

"So, by any chance," the journalist asked, "would you know how he was poisoned? He left here not long ago during lunch, so we think someone slipped him the poison while he was here at the station, just before he left."

Officer Macneill looked impressed. "It wasn't me," he answered, "but part of me wishes it were."

Tintin stared. "One," he gawked, "why, and two: aren't you a police officer?"

"Being an officer is having a job, kid," Macneill answered, "and if I don't have a job, that means I'm not a police officer anymore."

Snowy startled howling in the background, and Tintin glanced over distractedly to see George frowning at the loud dog.

"Snowy, hush," Tintin answered before turning back to his conversation. "Why wouldn't you be an officer anymore?" he frowned.

"I'm a senior officer," Macneill answered. "I'm old. Soon, they'll have enough rookies to take my place, and I won't be able to do as much work as them. I'll be forced to retire."

"Isn't retiring a good thing to do when you're old?" Tintin asked lightly.

"I don't want to retire, kid!" Macneill exclaimed. "I like this job, and it pays. Why should I quit?"

Tintin shook his head. The conversation at present was useless, so he moved on to a different, more important topic. "Anyway, you wish you were poisoning the rookies? So they won't take your job?"

"I guess I don't want to poison them," Macneill shrugged. "Just anything to get them out of the way works."

_If anything's a confession, that's got to be one,_ Tintin thought. _But I need proof._ He looked to the desk behind the officer. It had a nameplate bearing the words, _Farley Macneill_. Right next to it sat a clear bottle, an aquamarine-colored liquid quaking slightly inside. Tintin inhaled as he rushed over to it before peeling off the top. He took a sniff and immediately started coughing.

"Herbs," he said. "There's no way you didn't do this, Macneill." He shoved the lid on again and set in on the desk. "Thomson! Thompson!" he called.

Within seconds, the two detectives, along with the Captain, appeared.

Glaring at Macneill, who showed surprise, Tintin said, "I found your criminal, detectives. The poison is right here on his desk."

The officers looked as surprised as Macneill himself, but they couldn't deny the evidence they saw and had to arrest him.

"You don't understand!" protested Macneill as the detectives handcuffed him and read him his rights. "If I had done it, I wouldn't have given you a reason to think so! I wouldn't have left evidence in plain sight, either!"

Tintin didn't respond. Those two things were bothering him as well, but no one could argue with the facts. They'd found the weapon in his possession.

Tintin sighed. That was that, he figured. Turning to George, he said, "Well, bud, that's how you solve a crime. What'd you think?" He frowned. "George?" he spoke up, realizing the boy wasn't there. He looked around, but both he and Snowy had disappeared. "George? Snowy?" He ran over to the Captain and asked, "Captain, have you seen George or Snowy?"

"Why, no," replied the Captain. "I haven't seen them since they went wandering off with you."

Tintin felt uneasy. "You must help me look for them, Captain," he answered. "I don't know where they've gone or why."

They split up and scoured the station top to bottom, but there was no sign of the boy or the dog. Worried and dejected, they returned to the car.

"We'll drive around town and look for them," Tintin planned. "Surely, they couldn't have gone that far." However, his sentence was only a failed attempt to reassure himself. He knew that in the time they were finished talking and were looking around the building, they could have gotten far enough away to never be found.

The Captain looked as doubtful as Tintin felt, obviously having the same thoughts, but he complied anyway. However, an hour passed as they drove around downtown Brussels with no luck.

"I don't understand," Tintin murmured. "What could have happened to them? Why would they suddenly disappear without a trace? No signs of where they went, no warning of their departure? I don't get it." He started thinking about what had happened in the station. Snowy was barking. It was a warning. He had sensed danger and had been trying to alert Tintin.

The boy groaned. "I'm so stupid!" he exclaimed. "It couldn't have been Officer Macneill! He was right, and the real culprit is still out there and knows we're onto him! He must have kidnapped George and Snowy for some reason!" He frowned. "I just don't know why," he confessed. "Or how he would have been able to pull it off. In a station full of officers, surely someone would have seen it happening and stopped it!"

"So now what?" asked the Captain, not sure what their next step was going to be.

"There's nothing we can do right now, Captain," Tintin sighed. "They're gone until we can find a clue or anything to help us find them. All we can do now is return home."

* * *

They drove back to Marlinspike Hall, more concerned than ever. As they pulled in the driveway, Tintin realized with dread that he was going to have to inform Professor Calculus about the disappearance of his apprentice. With a heavy heart and guilty conscience, the reporter set off to the lab his steps slow and reluctant. He knew it was all his fault that George had been abducted. If he hadn't gotten him involved, hadn't asked him to help solve the crime, he would still be safe.

Tintin stumbled into the lab, every footfall a burden. "Professor?" he called weakly, afraid to face the scientist. He had no idea what his response would be. However, when he looked around the room, he was shocked, delighted, and utterly bewildered to see George!

"GEORGE!" he yelled in relief, running to the boy. "I thought you were gone for good! You and Snowy disappeared from the station without a trace, and we couldn't find you anywhere!" He caught his breath, looking around quickly. "Where's Snowy?" He suddenly felt sick to his stomach again as he realized that George was alone.

"I'm so sorry, Tintin," muttered George, staring at the floor. "I tried so hard to save him!"

Tintin felt a rush of cold blood flood him. " . . . save him?" he repeated, barely able to choke out a whisper.

"We were in the station when you were talking to Macneill," continued George. "Snowy started barking, but I didn't know why. After you told him to stop, he didn't. He ran off towards the back of the building, so I followed him. I couldn't keep up very well, though. He led me outside, but by the time I got there, this masked man who was out there – I figured Snowy must have been chasing him – had already gotten him. I just heard the dog barking as the man ran away with him. I chased him as far as I could see him, but before I knew it, he'd disappeared. I was near the edge of town, then, so I simply returned home. I'm sorry to cause you all that time and trouble, and even more sorry that I couldn't save your dog."

Tintin gave a heavy sigh, his heart broken at the news. George was safe, but his precious and beloved pet was gone, probably never to be seen again. He looked at the troubled youth before him. Tintin knew it wasn't his fault – he'd done all he could – so he forced the words, "You did your best. No one could ask for more."

George could sense his sadness and hopelessness. "I'm sorry, I really am," he pleaded.

"You did what you could," Tintin answered. "However, we're back at base one. A murdered officer and a missing dog, both unexplained." He shook his head. "I guess I'm going to go back to the hall to think it over. I'll come see you if I get anything."

"All right," George answered, sensing his need to be alone. "I guess I'll just stay here and finish up my project."

Suddenly curious, Tintin turned to look at what he was doing. He held in a gasp as he saw some bottles and a bubbling vial of aquamarine liquid on George's desk. It was only seconds later that he noticed the strong, herbal smell in the room, and he knew who had poisoned that officer and kidnapped Snowy. He understood how . . . he just didn't understand why.

* * *

Tintin was back at the hall in couple of minutes. He'd practically ran the whole way, though he'd been careful to leave casually so as not to let George know he was in a hurry. He dashed inside, yelling, "Professor Calculus!" He wasn't sure how much good it would do, but it was all he could do as he rushed around the manor.

He discovered him shortly after, sitting in the dining room having a cup of tea. The Captain wasn't around, Tintin realized, but then again, tea was never his drink.

"Professor!" cried Tintin, rushing to his side.

"Hello, Tintin," greeted the man. "How are you?"

"Fine," answered Tintin. "Is your assistant, George, working on a project right now?"

"Why, no," the Professor answered, much to Tintin's surprise. Then he noted the little hearing aids he was wearing. "The last project he worked on was replicating DNA, and that was months ago. I'm afraid nothing came of it; some wrong calculations were made, and the whole mess was too much to sort out at the time."

"That sounds tragic," Tintin replied, though he wasn't much interested. He was too much in a hurry to care. "You know, I've suddenly realized that I have to go. Good day, Professor!"

"Good day, Tintin," answered Calculus, turning back to his tea.

Tintin, meanwhile, hurried out to the entry way. _George lied to me,_ he thought. _He wasn't working on a project with the Professor's knowledge. It was the poison all along, and he was keeping it a secret!_ He shook his head in disbelief. _George. George, the criminal. I never would have guessed. And he was with me almost the whole time! How could I have been so fooled? But George . . . what motive could he have to do this?_

He didn't know, however, so all he could do was make his plan.

* * *

Later that night, Tintin sneaked out to the lab, waiting in the shadows of the forest for a chance when George wasn't around. Sure enough, minutes later, George exited the building and headed for the hall, probably to talk to Professor Calculus. Tintin seized his opportunity, slipping into the lab. He had to prove once and for all who the real culprit was.

The lab was empty and silent when he entered, and he made his way quietly to the back room, the one that belonged to George. Upon entering, he flicked on the overhead light. He was immediately greeted with a plain room. A small bed crouched in one corner with a small table next to it. The other corner housed a desk with vials, papers, a calculator, and other chemical tools. Along the unpainted wall stood a small dresser of clothing, and next to that sat a closed and locked chest. On the other side of the room lurked a closet, which was closed. Tintin strode over to it, opening it. Sure enough, inside was his dog.

"Snowy!" he exclaimed softly, bending down next to the animal. His hind paws were tied together, as well as his front. There was another rope bound around his snout to keep him from barking. Tintin immediately and gently released his pet, giving him a hug. "Come on, boy," he murmured. "Let's get out of here."

He stood, carrying Snowy, whose legs were asleep and therefore useless at the moment. They exited the room, only to come face to face with George Ruben.

Tintin's shock and slight fear was quickly overcome by fury. "It was you all along, George!" he snapped. "And you were using me the whole time!"

Equally mad, George demanded, "How do you figure that?"

"I figured it out earlier," Tintin answered, "when I was planning. You were outraged when your father was arrested, and you held a grudge against the police."

"That's right," George replied. "And after my father died, it was too much. So I started designing this poison. I mixed herbs, nitrogen, everything I needed to make it do exactly what I needed it to do. It took me over a year to perfect it, though. I had to find the one perfect thing to make it work its magic instantaneously. But I couldn't. Not until this morning.

"But before I could use it, you came along. I realized how much I could use you, so I pretended to be awed by your work." There was a nasty tone to his voice. "So I went with you to the station. I slipped some poison into Smith's cup just before he left. However, without the final piece of the recipe, it didn't work until he got all the way out here, where you found him. I knew you were onto me, so I had to plant evidence to frame someone. When we were at the station again, I listened. I listened to every person you talked to, and when I found Macneill had a potential motive, I seized my chance. When you weren't looking, I put the bottle on his desk.

"But your stupid dog saw me do it," he glared at the white terrier, "and he wouldn't shut up about it. I had some crackers in my pocket, some more leftovers, so I lured him outside, where I ran off with him back here. I tied him up and hid him before you got back and started working on my concoction again. I had just added my final ingredient when you arrived. I noted when you saw the poison, though. I knew you knew it was me. So I waited. I finished my poison. When I saw you outside, I left shortly after, pretending to go to the hall. As soon as you were in, I came back, and just in time to catch you." He started laughing. "You know, I need someone to test the newest version of my poison on. I guess you're the perfect candidate."

"George, please," Tintin begged. "You don't have to do this."

George was more furious than ever. "Yes, I do!" he yelled. "I'm going to make everyone you know devastated! Devastated at your death, devastated they lost you, devastated that they will never see you again! Just like I was! They'll know my pain! They'll know exactly how it feels to have the only people they ever loved ripped right from them!" Bitter and angry tears rushed down George's cheeks. "They'd believe it was their fault that you died, because of their own incapability to save you. They'd live the whole rest of their lives, knowing they were the ones who cost you your life!"

The boy dropped his head and started sobbing hopelessly, and Tintin realized that his words were ones that built up inside him for years. It was those lies that had come to rule George, to unjustly define who he was. And Tintin was sure that George believed all those things about himself. Maybe not about Tintin, but always about himself.

George's anger replenished suddenly, causing him to lift his head again. Before Tintin knew it, George had pulled a knife from his pocket and wrenched poor Snowy from his grip. Grasping the dog tightly in his arm, he held the blade up to his neck.

"Sit down, now," commanded George, jerking his head toward the chair in front of his desk. "Don't make me slit your puppy's throat."

Seeing no other way to spare his dog, Tintin slowly complied. Seeming pleased with the cooperation, George slowly smiled a wicked grin, grabbing a coil of rope from his room. He tied a strand around Snowy's snout again, preventing him from alerting anyone. Binding his paws again, he shoved him in his room and shut the door. "Now for you," George smirked, tying his wrists to the arms of the chair. "Just to make sure I get no resistance."

Tintin watched with growing fear as George grabbed a vial of poison. He screwed a needle on it, saying, "You know, the good thing about this chemical is that it works no matter how it gets in your system. So I'll just use this handy little device here to get in your blood." He held up the needle, and the light it caught shone in Tintin's eyes as the boy criminal advanced on the helpless journalist.


	3. Chapter 3

_Here is the final part of _Poisoned Heart_. Enjoy!_

* * *

"That dratted Calculus!" growled the Captain, slamming his fist on the wall. The whole sitting room seemed to shake with his anger. "He said he'd be finished with that cure today! So where is it?" He stood up, fuming, and began to pace. "He had no right to give me that darned pill! It's my right to drink what I want! He couldn't do that! And now! Now! He's taking forever to finish that cure!"

He paused before going over to the pantry and grabbing a bottle of whiskey. Going back to the sitting room, he muttered to himself, "I should try it again. Maybe, just maybe, it'll work this time." So he pried off the top and took a gulp. Immediately, everything burned, and the alcohol seemed to taste like poison in his throat. He had no choice but to spit it out, not caring that it ended up on the carpeted floor.

He shook in rage where he stood and ground his teeth, slamming the bottle down on the table. "That blood sucker! I ought to go down to the lab myself and give him a piece of my mind! Blistering barnacles, I will!"

Picking up his mariner's hat from the table, he slapped it on his head matter-of-factly, twisting it to face forward. Grabbing the half full bottle from where it sat, he stormed from the hall. He made the trek to the lab in short time, throwing open the door violently.

"CALCULUS!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, hurling the bottle blindly across the room. "JELLYFISH! FRESHWATER PIRATE! ECTOPLASM!"

He heard a crash and looked to see Tintin sitting on the opposite side of the room as him. "Where's Calculus?" he growled.

"Um, not here," Tintin answered. "And thank you for the incredible save, Captain. Couldn't have timed it better myself."

"Your welcome," the Captain snapped without knowing or caring what it was that he done. He simply stormed from the lab.

"Captain!" yelled Tintin. "Come back!"

"Whippersnapper," Captain muttered under his breath and stalked back. "What do you want?"

"Could you untie me, by any chance?" asked Tintin.

"Untie you? What kind of a request is that?" huffed the Captain as he stomped over. He stopped when he saw George lying on the floor, unconscious, soaked in whiskey with pieces of glass scattered around him. "What am I missing?" he asked.

Tintin explained what had happened as the Captain released him, then went to retrieve his poor puppy in the other room.

"So . . . George is the criminal?" the sailor frowned, scratching his head. He was confused. "I thought he was helping you."

"_Using_ me is what he was doing," Tintin replied as he grabbed a phone and began to dial the police station. "He was using me as a way into the station to poison officers. It was his revenge on the police for arresting his dad and consequently wrecking his family and his life."

"Hello?" said a voice on the other line as they picked up.

"Thomson?" guessed Tintin.

"No, this is Thompson," replied the detective.

"Without a P?" inquired Tintin, puzzled.

"No, with a P, as in pseudonym," answered the officer.

"Right," responded Tintin. "Well, detective, I caught your criminal. The real one."

"Wait," interrupted Thompson. "Are you saying Macneill is innocent?"

"Yes, I am," answered Tintin. "I'm sorry for the mistake."

"Well, who's the real criminal, then?" asked Thompson.

"George Ruben," Tintin replied, "Professor Calculus' assistant."

"Why, he's only a child!" exclaimed Thompson.

"Yes, but he still did it," Tintin confirmed, outlining George's motives.

The two officers agreed to come down and pick up the fourteen-year-old, then they both hung up.

"Well, that's another case successfully solved," sighed Tintin as he cradled the phone. "I just hope that George can get some help."

* * *

The next couple weeks showed promise. George's trial convicted him as guilty but allowed him to receive therapy. He was terribly scarred from losing his family and mentally unstable; however, the doctors at the institution were very talented at what they did, and each week, George was recovering. In a little more than a year's time, he had made so much progress, Tintin decided to pay him a visit.

It was a Friday afternoon when Tintin drove up to Clearwater Mental Institution in Ostend, Belgium, about an hour from Marlinspike Hall. He arrived to find a large white building with many windows, sitting near the shore. Since it was summer, a small crowd of patients were out on the beach, some of them wading in the water.

_This looks like a lovely place,_ Tintin thought. He smiled as he walked into the building.

Inside, he found a sparsely decorated lobby, though the blue-colored tiles that covered the floor seemed to make up for it. The room was only slightly busy, so Tintin had little trouble spotting the receptionist desk on the far wall. He quickly headed over to it.

"Hello," the receptionist greeted him amiably. "How may I help you?"

"I'm looking to visit a friend of mine," Tintin answered. "His name is George Ruben."

The woman quickly checked her computer. "Ah, yes," she answered. "He's on the third floor, room 319." Her expression dropped slightly. "I think his doctor – Richard Harrison – will want to talk to you first, though."

Tintin felt everything around him freeze, including himself. "Why?" he asked.

She stared at him a moment before dropping her gaze to her computer screen. She scrolled busily through it – doing anything not to look at him, it seemed – while she replied hesitantly, "George . . . is a complicated patient. He is making good progress, of course, but you must realize that where he started is a horrible, horrible place."

"I understand," Tintin replied.

The lady nodded. "You'll find the doctor on the third floor. The lift is just down the hallway."

Tintin bid her thanks before walking down to it. He was alone on the short ride up, and he spent it silently thinking. In the past year, Tintin had thought a lot about George and what had happened that day, and he had developed a soft spot for him. True, he had tried to kill him, but he realized that his acting irrationally out of a place of pain. That couldn't excuse or justify his actions, but it did make it easier to forgive.

The lift glided to a stop and dinged, opening its doors for him. Tintin stepped out and headed down the hall. There was a desk halfway down, as Tintin supposed there was on every floor. At the desk, he was met by a nurse.

"Hello," she said. "May I help you?"

"Yes, please," Tintin answered. "I'm searching for a Doctor Richard Harrison."

"Ah," smiled the woman. "Doctor Harrison is just down the hall. If you will follow me, I can take you to him."

Tintin expressed his thanks as they started off down the row of doors. They stopped at one down the hall, marked with the numbers 342. The nurse knocked on the door, and after a few seconds, another nurse opened it.

"Nicole," she spoke, "what is it?"

"I have someone here to speak with Doctor Harrison," Nicole answered.

"All right," the other nurse replied. "I'll relay the message to him. He won't be out for a second, though. He just has to finish tending to Mr. Fredrickson."

"Of course," smiled Nicole as the lady ducked back into the room and shut the door softly.

It was only a minute later when the door opened. Nicole's friend and another nurse exited first, heading down the hall. Doctor Harrison followed them and closed the door, greeting Tintin and Nicole.

"Doctor Harrison," Nicole said, "this gentlemen was looking for you."

"I see," Doctor Harrison answered. "Thank you, Nicole."

She nodded with a faint smile, hurrying off down the hall.

"Well, young man, what might your name be?" asked the doctor.

"Tintin," replied the boy.

"Tintin? The journalist?" questioned the doctor.

"I'm afraid so," shrugged Tintin.

"Why, I've heard of some of your cases," Doctor Harrison replied. "Amazing, really."

"Indeed," Tintin answered modestly, wishing they didn't have to discuss those.

"Well, Tintin, what brings you up here?" asked the medical man.

"I was hoping to visit a friend, actually," Tintin responded, relieved. "George Ruben. I was told I could find him on this floor. Room 319."

The doctor paused. "George Ruben?" he repeated. "How do you know him?"

Tintin gave a brief explanation of the previous year's case, and the doctor frowned.

"I see," he replied. "Well, George's room is down the hall." He started walking in the direction Tintin had come from the elevators. As he walked, he turned his head towards Tintin and continued, "However, before we go in, there are things you must know about George's condition."

"Of course," Tintin answered. "I was aware you needed to inform me first."

Doctor Harrison nodded, not surprised. "As you know, George's family died several years ago. However, what you may or may not know is that George blamed himself for their deaths."

"I was slightly aware," Tintin admitted, flashing back to George's breakdown right before he attempted to murder the journalist.

"Yes," confirmed Doctor Harrison. "George always blamed himself but never consciously accepted it. Instead, he covered up his guilt by blaming the police officers. If they hadn't caught his dad, he wouldn't have left them without enough money, his sister and mother could have been taken care of, and no one would have died.

"However, despite his blame of them, he knew deep down it was all his fault. This lie planted a seed of poison in his mind and his heart. By crafting the poison to kill the officers last year, he thought it would get rid of his own poison. But instead, it poisoned him even worse. Bad decisions cannot cure other bad decisions. They just pile up."

With all this in mind, Tintin asked, "So, how is George now?"

The doctor sighed as they stopped in the hall outside of the room of the patient in question. "It took more work than I can say to get to where George is now. Compared to how he was when we took him in, he is doing amazingly."

"Where exactly is he at, then?" Tintin inquired, dissatisfied with the vague answer.

Doctor Harrison hesitated. "Well, why don't you see for yourself?" he said. "George is here; you can talk to him. Just be careful. It is unpredictable how he'll react to you. I'm right here, though, if you need me."

Tintin nodded before carefully opening the door and entering. "George?" he called softly. He didn't want to risk startling the unstable boy.

However, he didn't have to worry. George turned from where he was reading a book on his bed. "Tintin!" he said. "Hi!"

Tintin was taken aback by this friendly greeting. "Hello," he replied slowly. "How are you?"

"Good," George answered. "They treat me well here."

Tintin relaxed a bit. George seemed to be in a cheerful mood, so he figured not much could go wrong. "Well, that's nice to hear," the reporter answered. Deciding to start on a safe, light topic, he asked, "What do you do here?"

"Oh, plenty of stuff," George answered. "They let me read books and newspapers, sometimes I get to watch the news on TV in the sitting room. There's one on every floor, and whenever they turn it on, the other patients can go to the TV of their floor. We see the news mostly, maybe five times a week, and once a week, we're allowed to watch a movie."

"Well, that's cool," Tintin enthused.

George nodded. "In the warmer seasons, if the days are nice, we can go out on the lawn or to the beach, whenever we want. There's always nurses around to help and supervise us, though. But they're not bad; I don't mind them."

_Doctor Harrison is right,_ Tintin thought. _George is doing really amazing!_ "What else do you do?" he asked.

"They always have a sort of game or activity on Saturday afternoons," he answered. "And on Sunday, the five patients who behaved the best during the week get to go to the city with supervision, of course. I've done it a couple of times."

"To the city?" Tintin exclaimed. "Where?"

"They took us to a show once," George shrugged. "Another time we went to the zoo."

"Why would they do that?" asked Tintin in disbelief. These were mental patients!

George frowned at the attitude that slipped into the journalist's voice. "We might be hospital patients, Tintin," he answered, "and we might have some problems, but that certainly doesn't mean we're wild animals to be caged. We just need help, and whatever you might assume, going to the city is encouraging us. We like those trips, and it helps us be on our best behavior."

Tintin was ashamed of his thought. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm afraid I wasn't thinking rationally."

George was silent for several seconds, staring down at his book. He spoke up again suddenly, "As much as I like this place, I'm excited to get out."

Deciding not to doubt anything the child said anymore, Tintin only asked, "When will that be?" instead of wondering if it would ever happen.

"In three years," George responded, "when I'm a legal adult. I'm doing well, they say, and by the time I'm sixteen, they tell me I'll be able to hold down a job. I'll work for two years while I stay here, and my paychecks will add up until I can afford to rent an apartment. When I'm eighteen, they'll release me, and I can live there, work my job, and support myself."

Tintin thought it was an effective plan, and he voiced his thought.

"Yep," said George proudly. "I'm gonna become a reporter like you, Tintin."

"What?" Tintin faltered. "I thought you'd become a scientist, George."

George hesitated. "Well . . . I probably will," he confessed. "But I'd like to be a journalist. I've been reading about your cases, you know, ever since I came here."

"You have?" Tintin asked.

"Yeah," George answered. "They're really great. You're really talented, Tintin."

"Um, thanks," Tintin answered, though he was rather shocked by this turn in attitude on George's part. Wasn't it only a year ago this boy had tried to murder him?

His surprise must have shown on his face, for George answered, "Yeah, I know. I'm really sorry I tried to poison you, Tintin. I wasn't really in my right mind, then, though I understand that's no excuse for my actions."

Tintin was touched by the apology, and he answered, "I understand, George."

George turned to face the window, which looked out over the ocean. "I didn't mean it, I really didn't," he admitted. "But the death of my family killed me, Tintin. I was blinded." He paused before looking back to the reporter. "I know now that I couldn't have done more than I could. Even though it's not my fault, however . . . I still miss them. I just wish . . . . " He cut off the end of his sentence bitterly.

"You're always going to miss them," Tintin murmured softly, "and that's fine. But whatever you do, whatever happens, and wherever you go, you must always remember that it wasn't your fault. You loved your family, George. If you had the ability, I know you would have sacrificed everything in the world for them. That's what counts. And I know that if they could, they'd tell you that they appreciate how much you did do for them, George."

The boy was silent for a few seconds. "You think?" he asked finally.

"I know," Tintin replied.

For a moment, George was quiet and still. Then he suddenly stood and ran up to Tintin, giving him a hug. "Thank you, Tintin," he said.

Tintin was startled by this act, but he recovered quickly enough to accept it and give the boy a light hug back. "You're welcome, George," he replied.

Pulling away, the younger teen said, "You know, I'm gonna come visit you when I get out. Maybe, if I'm really good, they'll let me come see you sooner, too."

"I'd like that," Tintin said.

Doctor Harrison stepped in the room. "It's time for dinner," he announced. "I'm afraid visiting hours are over for today."

Tintin and George bid their goodbyes, and George left to the dining room, where he would eat with all the other patients. Doctor Harrison, meanwhile, bid Tintin his own goodbye before walking off down the hall.

_That was amazing,_ Tintin thought to himself as he got in his car. He started it and pulled out of the parking lot. _I'm so glad George is doing so well._ As he turned onto the highway, he thought of his final words with George and was pleased to know that maybe, just maybe, he'd had the smallest part in helping to heal George's poisoned heart.


End file.
